Miss Loring and Nucky are on a path by the side of a creek. Nucky is pointing to a tree across the creek, and Miss Loring is sitting on a horse, looking in that direction. Beyond them is a hilly landscape.“'That's where I keep lookout of moonlight nights when war is on.'”
As we advanced, he showed me the steep cornfields tended by Blant and himself, the almost upright pastures where some cattle and sheep were feeding, and above, the virgin forest where Blant gets out yellow poplar and other fine timber, and on the very crest of the ridge, the gray, forbidding "high rocks" that are so fine for fox-hunts, and also, he says, for "hiding out" in if officers get too troublesome.
"Blant he has a whole passel of warrants hanging over him," he said, "and the sheriff and deputies they used to come over every now and then last winter a-hunting him. Of course he couldn't afford to give hisself up, or put in no time in jail, when he was so bad needed at home; and at first he would take to the rocks when he seed 'em a-coming. But that was a heap of trouble, and he got mighty tired of it, and so next time they rid up he tuck his pistol and stepped out and told 'em that, bad as he hated to do it, circumstances was such that he would have to fire on 'em if they kep' bothering around; that he had the living to make for the family, and no time to spend setting around enjoying hisself in jail,—that with him duty come before pleasure, and he would have to request 'em to leave him alone. And seeing how he felt about it, they never come again for quite a spell,—not till after he kilt Elhannon in April. Then they kotch him purely by accident, but he got away from 'em that night,—I'll tell you about it sometime."
We were now approaching the Marrs house, a large, substantial one of logs, built on the time-honored pattern of "two pens and a passage,"—that is, two huge rooms, with an open hallway, below, and a great "loft", large enough for six ordinary rooms, above. "Cap'n Enoch Marrs raised it, more'n a hundred year' gone," said Nucky.
Entering the open passage, which was hung with saddles, bridles and gearing of all sorts, and also with strings of beans and peppers, we passed into one of the lower rooms. Mr. Marrs arose, coughing, from one of the three large beds, upon which he had been resting, and welcomed me most kindly. In front of the great fireplace, four young children were gathered, and the eldest of these, a little woman of eight, held in her arms an infant, upon whom I looked with special interest. This, then, was "the babe,"—a beautiful, tiny girl-child of five months, with large gray eyes in a small white face, and the brightest of little smiles.
The room was bare save for the beds, some chairs, and a great homemade chest of drawers. On the fireboard were a clock and a few books, yellow and crumbly, as Nucky had said, and above, across wooden pegs set in the wall, rested a long, old-fashioned rifle, with a powderhorn slung on one end.
"This here's the gun Cap'n Enoch Marrs fit the British with," said Nucky, with bursting pride; "it's mine now,—paw give it to me on account of my name."
Half an hour later, the hero, Blant, came in from "saving" fodder. I gazed at him with all my might. He is a tall young man, with Nucky's fine gray eyes and dark hair, an open face and a resolute jaw. After greeting me in the gentlest of voices, he picked up the babe, who, clinging to him with cries and coos of joy, buried her little face in his bosom. He then went on with her across the passage and into the other large room, whither Nucky followed him, and the two began preparations for supper. Several times I saw Blant pass the open door, always with the babe on his left arm, and once with a bowl of cornmeal, once a stack of roasting-ears, once a skillet of meat, in the other. As I looked, I said to myself over and over, "Is it possible this is a slayer of men, an eluder and defier of the law?"
Miss Loring is sitting by an open door, with a book in her lap and two little children by her side. Across the passage in another room Blant is passing by with an infant on his left arm and a skillet in his right.“As I looked, I said to myself over and over, 'Is it possible this is the slayer of men, an eluder and defier of the law?'”
It also occurred to me for the first time that I was adding to his already heavy burdens; and I reproached myself for coming; but there was no help for it now.
Supper at last being ready, Mr. Marrs, leaning feebly on his crutch, conducted me into "t'other house," the children took their stands and we our seats about the table, and Blant, still with the babe on his arm, did the honors, pouring the coffee, and then impartially sharing with the babe the beans, fat meat, roasting-ears and sweet-potatoes on his plate. While of course the house in many ways shows the absence of woman's care, Blant's filling of his mother's place is indeed remarkable.
Later, my offer of help in the dish-washing being kindly but firmly refused, I returned to the first room with Mr. Marrs and the children, and we sat and talked. Of course I made no reference to the family "war," but I did inquire as much as possible in regard to ancient family history, and was shown the old Bible, the records of which go back to Captain Enoch Marrs, the first settler here. Mr. Marrs, however, told me that there are traditions that before the Marrses came to America, they were brave and gentle folk for five hundred years in Old England, and poured out their blood like water for the glory of their country. "I allow from what I have heared that we have always been a fighting race," he said. "My great-grandpaw used to set up and tell big tales, which he got from his paw, how first one and then t'other of us fit for his king in ancient days, and won glory and renown,—I mind there was a famous admiral under Good Queen Bess, and before him a general that licked out the French nation—but I haint able to ricollect names and circumstances, having been too young and unknowing when I heared them tales to take proper interest, which I regret now."
I shared his regret,—with so many good and aristocratic English names in this mountain country, I have been quite sure that some of them harked back to a brave and honorable past, and it would be especially pleasing to me to trace Nucky's line to its old English home, and through its brave deeds for king and country.
While we talked, Blant returned, with the babe and Nucky, and a little later, Blant's bosom friend, Richard Tarrant, came in from across the mountain. He is a strikingly attractive young man. Before he had stayed long, he said,
"I have got bad news for you, Blant,—it is being talked that Todd and Dalt Cheever has got powerful homesick out west, and is aiming to come back before long. I hope it haint so,—I had looked forward to a right smart spell of peace for you,—God knows you have got your hands full, without no further warfare."
"I think Todd and Dalt will be satisfied to stay away a while yet," replied Blant, quietly; "I allow this is just one of Israel's lies."
"Well, I hope so," said Rich; "but forewarned is forearmed, and I thought you ought to know the talk."
"I want to know about it quick as they come," spoke up Nucky, hastily; "you can't no way get along without me to keep lookout."
Blant turned sternly upon him. "No matter what the news is, son," he admonished, "you stay right there where you air, and don't dare to leave and come home. You know maw's desires in regards to your getting l'arning. I promised her I'd carry 'em out, and now I aim to do it. You stay over there, or you'll have me to reckon with. I got Rich here to help me if need be, and likewise Uncle Billy's boys,—what I haint able to tend to myself."
Nucky's face flushed angrily; but he said no more.
When bed-time came, the family slept downstairs—besides the three beds in one room, there was another in the kitchen—and I was shown up to a comfortable feather-bed in the great loft. Long after everybody else was asleep, I heard the poor little babe wailing pitiably below, and Blant softly walking the floor with it, jolting it back and forth in his chair, and trotting it on his knees before the fire. No wonder the little creature suffered agonies after eating the things it got for supper.
After breakfast in the morning, Nucky invited me to go for a walk. We ascended one of the spurs of the mountain in the rear of the house,—never have I seen a more beautiful site for a home than in that hollow—and a third of the way up, on a small "bench," came upon what appeared to be a play-village. Beneath spreading trees, were a dozen or more diminutive houses, with latticed sides and roofs of riven oak boards. Some were crumbling into decay, some new and substantial. The one to which Nucky led me was still yellow. "Here's where Maw lays," he said, almost in a whisper (I judge that one reason he finds it so hard to speak of her is his feeling that he, or rather, her desire for his education, was in a way the cause of her death), and I knew that this must be the family burying-ground, and these the grave-houses once so necessary for the protection of the dead from wild beasts, and still surviving here in the customs of the mountain country.
Near the grave-house of his mother were three smaller ones, still good and new. "Our three young uns betwixt Blant and me died of typhoid one summer, about five year' gone," Nucky explained. China-asters were blossoming gaily among the weeds about these grave-houses. "Maw she sot 'em there," Nucky said, "she liked to come here and rest a spell when she was hoeing corn, and set with these young uns."
The tragedy of the life of Nucky's mother was brought forcibly before me as I stood there. An eager-minded, loving-hearted woman, shut off from all opportunity, the bringer of ten new lives into the world, laboring and drudging as only these mountain women know how to for the sustenance and clothing of her family, suffering constant anxiety as to the very lives of her loved ones by reason of the family "war," and finally having to go out into the darkness of death and bid them all farewell,—surely it is a sad and tragic history.
As we turned away, Nucky added, "With them three young uns around her, I allow she haint so lonesome as she would be all by herself."
"No," I said, "having her loved ones with her, she is happier far, even in heaven. For it is that which makes heaven."
Blant had dinner for us at eleven, and soon afterward we were ready to depart. "Come over and see us sometime at the school," I called to Blant, as he stood with the babe on his arm by the gate. He thanked me gravely, but did not say he would come.
"Gee," said Nucky, as we rode on, "he can't never do that,—why they'd justhaveto arrest him if he run into the jaws of the sheriff and the jail that way!"
We made the last hour or two of our journey through moonlight in which the mist-hung mountains and shadowed valleys lay entrancingly lovely.
"This is the kind of nights I allus keep watch for the Cheevers," said Nucky.
I wondered if these were the sole thoughts aroused in him by the wondrous beauty in which he had been born and bred. Presently I knew.
"If maw is in heaven, like you say, do you allow the country round about there is any prettier than this here?" he asked.
"No, I am sure not," I replied, emphatically.
Nucky ran in to-night from shinny, to have a "broke" ankle tied up, (it seems to me I am always tying up either "risings," "biles," sores or hurts) and said to me while I did it,
"That 'ere little Jason is just a-chawing up and spitting out them little day-schools. This morning at recess I seed him whup out five-at-a-time. Yes, sir, five was on him, and by Ned if he didn't lay out the last one. He's the fightingest boy you got!"
"I thought you were that," I said.
"Dad burn ole Heck if ever I seed the day I could lay out five of my size at a time! Going to school there on Trigger, I have whupped out as many as three Cheever young uns at a time; but five! Gee! I wisht I knowed how he done it!"
These accounts of Jason's prowess seem unbelievable; but from the mouths of many witnesses I gather that they must be true. I, too, wonder how he does it.
Evidently Jason's success with the little primaries is going to his head, for to-day he attacked Hen Salyer, who is a head taller, and would have vanquished him had not Keats come to the rescue. As it was, he gave the Salyers a lively battle, and enormously increased their respect for him. My most vigorous applications of the rod appear powerless to curb this aggressiveness.
While we were out in force this afternoon, digging the ditch which is to drain our garden, Nucky spoke up, apropos of nothing,
"'F I had a boy 't wouldn't fight, I'd tie him to a good sapling and fill him so full of bullets the buzzards wouldn't eat him!"
Having observed anything but a lack of the "fighting edge" since my arrival on Perilous, I saw no point in this remark, and let it pass. Nucky spoke again, accusingly,
"You got one," he said; "you got a boy 't won't fight!"
"I?" I demanded in amazement.
"Iry Atkins yander. Little Jason Wyatt's been a-picking on him for three days, and he's afeared to fight him back, by Ned!"
"You're a liar, Trojan!" spoke up the "pure scholar," hotly; "I haint fit him because I'm a-minding her. She said for us not to fight him because he were so little. I can fight as good as you, dag gone you!"
"Le's see you then, dad swinge you!"
Iry rushed upon Nucky with murder in his eye, and it took Taulbee and me, aided by a hoe-handle, to separate them.
Iry's conscientiousness is very gratifying. I wish that I could remove the interdict made at first for Jason's protection; but probably it had better remain now for Iry's.
When Jason and Keats came up from the wash-house to-night in their fresh gowns, looking startlingly clean, (I let them bathe together because Keats is so kind-hearted, and carries the water from kettles to tubs for Jason, and even washes his back for him) I handed Keats a pair of scissors. "Do you mind cutting Jason's toe-nails?" I asked; "I notice that they are dreadfully long."
To my utter confounding, Jason threw himself on the floor, kicking and beating it violently and letting out terrific yells.
"Why, it won't hurt you, dear," I said, "or, if you fear Keats will, I will gladly do it myself."
The howls and yells increased if possible.
"He haint afeared of being hurt," said Keats; "he just don't aim to part with them toe-nails."
"Why?" I inquired.
"He needs 'em in his business. He fights with 'em. I found it out when him and Hen fit a-Tuesday. He tried it on me, the feisty little skunk! That's the way he lays out the day-schools five-at-a-time. He jobs out the eyes of two with his thumbs, and bites and butts another, and rakes the shins of two more with his toe-nails, and whups out five as easy as falling off a log!"
"They certainly must come off then," I declared sternly. "You hold one leg, and Killis one, and Philip and Taulbee his arms and head, and I'll cut them off!"
And thus surprised of his secret, and bound by the Philistines, my little Samson was shorn.
Before breakfast I called Iry into my room. "How much muscle have you got?" I inquired.
The "pure scholar" bared a small, skeleton arm, on which a creditable knot of muscle rose as he flexed it.
"You are really a pretty good fighter, aren't you?" I asked.
"Paw he'd knock me in the head if I weren't."
"Very well. I told you once not to fight Jason Wyatt. I may have been wrong in doing so. Next time he picks on you, fight him back."
Just before noon, Nucky ran into the cottage with bulging eyes. "That 'ere little Iry is a-giving Jason the best whupping down in the stable-lot ever you seed. Jason he got to feisting around him ag'in, and he just grabbed him unexpected, and laid him out, and now he's choking the life out of him!"
Jason is on the ground with Iry above him. Jason's arms are held down by Iry's leg and arm. Iry's other arm is around Jason's neck. Three boys are observing the scene.“'That 'ere little Iry is a-giving Jason the best whupping down in the stable-lot ever you seed.'”
"Good!" I cried, hurrying back to see the combat. All the boys were miraculously gathered, and the wash-girls also looked on with delight. Jason tried all his tricks, but could not once free himself from the relentless grasp. Both arms were pinioned, one by a leg, one by an arm of Iry's, his head was held down by the dreadful hand at his throat; only his legs were free, and they alas, were useless,—his toes passed harmlessly over Iry's face and neck and ears!
Not until he had held out to the verge of suffocation did the conquered conqueror at last gasp for mercy, and being let up, crawl off under the corncrib to sob out his rage and shame in peace.
Doubtless this will do him much good.
Though the days are still warm, the nights are getting cool, and for the sake of bare toes we began last night having a fire in the sitting-room. It was the one thing needed,—I see that with its glowing warmth to gather around, our family life will henceforth be much more intimate and cheerful. Sydney Lanier says that two things are necessary to the making of a real home,—an open fire and music. We have both. The fire had hardly begun to crackle before Absalom had the banjo out, and was singing in the chimney corner,—not bloody, recent song-ballads this time, but, to my joy, famous old English ones forgotten centuries ago by the rest of the world but wonderfully preserved here in the mountain country. "Barbara Allen" was one ballad he sang; "Turkish Lady," "The Brown Girl," and "The Specter Ship" were others. All the tunes were queer, minor, and long-drawn-out, and sung in a kind of falsetto; and between verses there is a very weary period of picking.
The boys all declare they prefer the newer ballads, such as "Blant's Revengement," and "The Doom of the Mohuns," and that these old ones are fit only for women-folks; but I noticed they listened absorbed.
Yesterday a wagon came in from the railroad,—a great occasion it is when one arrives, all of us women flocking out and surrounding it before the mules can stop, and receiving the packages and boxes destined for us as if they were the most precious jewels,—indeed, they are valuable after coming that long and difficult way. I was glad to find that my cheerful dresses ordered last month had arrived, as well as the wire corn-poppers and some rolls of wall-paper with great red roses for our sitting-room.
Cleo and Howard put the lovely red paper on our sitting-room to-day,—when the boys and I came in from the garden it was all done, and a shout of delight went up. Of course they have never seen anything so beautiful.
I had another surprise for them. Prettiest of all my new dresses is a cardinal crêpe de chine, exactly matching the wall-paper. I put it on for supper to-night, getting to the dining-room a little late. There was much excitement at our table as I entered, and Jason created a sensation by calling out, in his shrill voice, "Oh, yander comes my red stick of candy!" Nucky said not a word; but the pride in his eyes was sufficient. All during the meal, the boys vied with one another in passing me things, and in saying "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am"; and I saw them glancing around at other tables to observe the effect of my grand costume.
Who, seeing me sit here before our cottage fire this evening, clothed in the color of life and joy, with my happy and cheerful family close around, would ever believe me to be the same woman who arrived here something more than two months ago, with a heart even more dark and desolate than her garb of woe? Truly, the ways and goodness of God are past imagining.
That the fraternal affection of the little Salyers is sound at the core (much evidence to the contrary notwithstanding) was proved beyond doubt by an occurrence last night. Hen is by nature deliberate, and is especially so about washing his feet and getting undressed at night, not yet having become reconciled in his mind to either process. He always retires after Keats, and, now the nights are cooler, first tries to root Keats out of his warm place, and, failing in that, doubles up and plants his cold feet in the middle of Keats's back. The long-suffering Keats rebels, and then follow howls, yells and a pitched battle, with shrill cries for me from Geordie Yonts, the third boy in the bed. When I arrive, the covers are on the floor, and the brothers fighting all over their own bed, the other bed and boys, and the entire room, and calling down horrible imprecations upon each other. In vain I have forbidden the use of the shocking language,—neither threats nor punishments have prevailed. Last night, after a particularly bad time, I called them into my room, explained to them the full meaning of the words they were using, and asked if either could possibly hate his brother enough to wish to consign him to eternal torment. They made no answer, but went off looking thoughtful. To-night when shrieks and howls announced the usual battle, and I hurried to the scene, the Salyers were pounding each other as mercilessly as ever, but this time, to my unspeakable relief, they were calling out furiously, "Godhelpyou!" "Godhelpyou!",—a decided change for the better, and, I thought, a most timely petition!
In their sane moments now, they talk of nothing but Cousin Emmeline's funeral occasion and the visit home; and it is impossible for them to decide whom they most desire to see,—whether Nervesty, or Sammy, or Ponto, or the steers Buck and Brandy; while their longing extends also to the other children, and to Charlie the "flea-bit" nag, Ole Suke, the "pied" cow, Reddy the heifer, and the black sow, Julia.
On our way to the "church-house" this morning, I noticed that Iry wore the long, ample homespun trousers in which he arrived. "Where are the Sunday breeches I gave you?" I inquired.
"There they air," he said, pointing to Geordie's fat legs, which seemed about to burst out of a pair of dark blue short trousers.
"Iry he just pestered me into trading with him," was Geordie's explanation, "he said he were bound to have that gold ring I got out of a prize box last week. Show it to her, Iry."
Iry put forth a small, dingy hand, adorned with a large, elaborate brass ring.
"But you can see that wasn't a fair trade," I said indignantly to Geordie.
"I knowed it weren't,—I knowed that ring were worth five times them breeches, and I'd never see its like ag'in. But I felt sorry for him, he wanted it so bad."
"No, I mean just the other way," I said sharply, "you paid a nickel for that prize-box, didn't you?"
"Yes'm."
"And there was candy in it?"
"A little-grain."
"And you ate it?"
"What there were of it."
"And now you want to trade him the ring, which cannot be worth more than two cents, for his Sunday breeches."
The "born trader" looked at me pityingly. "Miss Loring," he said, "womenfolks haint got no understanding of prize-boxes. Sometimes you pay your nickel down and don't git ary thing in 'em; and then ag'in there's jewelries nobody can't tellwhatthey worth, they so fine. Thaint nary ring like that ever been seed in these parts. Iry Atkins's got the onliest ring like it on Perilous, or I reckon in Kent County, or maybe in Kentucky! What's breeches to that?"
To this master argument, the fact that the ring would not keep Iry's legs warm in winter seemed a puerile answer; still, with cold weather coming on, and clothing scarce as hens' teeth, I was compelled to break up the trade, and to forbid Geordie's making any more.
In the afternoon we went up Perilous, persimmon and buckeye hunting, and later, after filling their shirt-fronts with the shiny ammunition, the boys lined up on opposite sides of the creek and had a buckeye-battle.
After supper I began reading the Story of Odysseus. When we came to the place where the hero makes his escape from the cave of Polyphemus, Nucky interrupted to tell the tale he promised while we were on Trigger, of Blant's escape last spring, when for the first and only time he was arrested by officers. It was the day when he was "laywayed" by Elhannon, Todd and Dalt, and had killed one, and almost killed the other two. The sheriff happened to be on Powderhorn, near the mouth of Trigger, at the time, received the news at once, and reached the Marrs home within an hour after the occurrence. Blant, not dreaming of so prompt an attempt at arrest, was sitting before the fire cleaning his forty-five; and before he knew it, the sheriff stepped between him and his ammunition. Quiet surrender was the only possible thing. The sheriff and deputy started with him to the jail here in our village; but, being overtaken by darkness on the way, were obliged to stop overnight at a wayside house. Blant went to bed, handcuffed, between the sheriff and deputy, each of whom retired with a loaded revolver in his hand. In the morning the prisoner was gone, the blanket that had covered the three swung from the window, and the two revolvers were found on the ground beneath, placed neatly side by side.
"Thaint no men or no prison nowhere Blant couldn't git away from if he was a mind to," said Nucky; "he wouldn't fool around and see his friends et up like Odysseus."
The character of Odysseus also brought out some family history from Geordie and Absalom. It appears that their grandfather, Old George Yonts, was a man noted in several ways, as a hard-shell preacher, as a wonderful nag-trader, and, like Odysseus, as a man of craft and guile in wars. Warring factions would come to him for advice; and his stratagems, when carried out, were brilliantly successful. The boys, with much pride, told some awful instances. They also said that all of his thirteen sons were "mean men," their own father having met death at too early an age to become as distinguished as the other twelve. As I listened, I marvelled, not that the "born trader's" morality is a little oblique, but that he has any at all.
To-day I saw Philip hold out a handful of chestnuts to Taulbee, his bosom friend, with the words, "Don't take more'n five,—you're owing me now. You haint gone treat for allus!" Perfect candor is evidently the sure, if rocky, foundation of their relationship.
More family history as we were roasting sweet-potatoes in the hot ashes under our fire to-night. Iry said he could recollect roasting them while the men made his maw's coffin. "I never knowed no better," he said; "I weren't but three, and thought she was laying there asleep. I wondered what them men was a-hammering at outside. When I seed 'em take her off in it, I knowed."
"She were the best step-maw ever I had," remarked Joab, feelingly.
"How many have you had?" I inquired.
"Oh, paw he's had about five women," he mused. "My maw first, and then Iry's, and there's three sence. Serildy Byng, his next-to-last, was a middling civil woman; but she never stayed long. This last one is just fifteen, and haint got no manners. I have to fight her most every day, she picks on me'n Iry so. Paw he has a sorry time learning her to behave."
"I have heared something about your paw being right smart of a mean man," said Philip.
"Bet he can't hold a candle to Blant," put in Nucky, jealously.
"Maybe he can't, and maybe he can," drawled Joab, provokingly.
"Nobody haint as quick on the trigger as Blant," declared Nucky; "I'll bet nobody haint kilt and wounded more inside a few months than him, or would have been in jail more times if the officers could have kotch him and helt him."
"Jail," murmured Joab, contemptuously, "jail haint nothing! My paw's spent two year at Frankfort!"
The boys all exclaimed in admiration. "Gee-oh," said Philip, with new respect, "I never knowed he'd been penitentiaried."
"How many has he kilt?" inquired Nucky, skeptically.
"Oh, no more'n he had to," drawled Joab.
"I heared something about his killing off a few Lusks," said Taulbee.
"Yes, a few," admitted Joab; "Serildy Byng, that next-to-last of his, she got to talking some to a couple of the Lusks, and paw got wind of it, and kotch 'em a-hanging around one day. But he never kilt but one dead; and soon as t'other got able to talk, he sot all the Lusks ag'in paw,—there was nine on his track, laywaying and ambushing. At last one day they all rid up behind him over on the head of Rakeshin. He seed a turn in the road ahead, where there was a big rock. Every time they'd shoot, he'd jump like he was hit; and just as he got to the rock, he spraddled out flat on his nag, like he was dead. That was the last they seed, and they come up a-whooping, thinking they had him kilt. And about that time six of 'em got bullets in 'em, and three drapped dead; for paw had clim up on the rock and was a-laying for 'em. Time the rest of the Lusks got up from their wounds, they allowed paw was a mean enough man to leave alone."
Nucky was silenced. The impressive pause that followed was at last broken by Philip. "What did he do to Serildy?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing, but shoot off a piece of her jaw and a little-grain of her scalp."
Philip meditated again. "I expect that's the reason Serildy left your paw, haint it? Women's so quare."
"Maybe," replied Joab, indifferently.
Oh, my perfect gentleman!
Shinny went out and ball came in yesterday. When at noon the boys all ran to me begging for yarn (of course store balls are an unknown luxury) and when later I saw Philip, Keats and Hosea ravelling out old socks they said they had bought from Geordie, Taulbee engaged upon a piece of the old comforter he had traded off for a pop-gun, and now bought back at a ruinous price, and heard Killis and Joab bemoaning the fact that they had traded mittens and socks off for pop-guns, and telling of the vast sums Geordie was making selling these and like remains to the "day-schools," I realized that even as far back as pop-gun time the forelooker was dealing in ball futures, and that his transactions then were not even as magnanimous as I had supposed them to be.
Saturday and Sunday are the longed-for days of Cousin Emmeline's funeral occasion, we are to start to-morrow (Friday) afternoon, and the "two homesicks" are beside themselves with joy.
Friday noon the little Salyers, Jason (whom I did not dare leave behind) and I were all ready to start. Nucky, who has the stable job, had just brought Mandy around in the road and helped me into the saddle, and was handing me a switch, when suddenly I saw his fingers stiffen, his eyes widen, his face pale. Looking around for the cause, I saw two youngish men riding past in the road. Apparently they did not see him; but he eyed them with concentrated hatred. I hardly needed his low-spoken words, "Todd and Dalt," to tell me who they were.
"I got to go home quick as I can get there," he said, when they had passed out of hearing.
"You shall do nothing of the kind," I declared; "you heard Blant's commands on the subject. He is perfectly able to take care of himself, and does not want you. I, too, command you to stay here."
"But hehaintable to take care of hisself now he's got the babe on his hands," Nucky insisted; "he can't noway keep lookout: of course they have come back to kill him if they can. I couldn't rest here a minute."
"Nevertheless, I command you to stay," I said sternly, as I took my departure.
But for my anxiety about him, and about this new threatening of "war" on Trigger, my visit to the little Salyers' home would have been a perfect thing. The day was glorious as we went, the mountains one blaze of reds, yellows and greens. All the way, the "two homesicks" were urging Mandy on with voice or hickory or both; while, entranced with the beauty, I earnestly wished that she might be permitted to go her natural gait.
After following Perilous four miles, we turned up Nancy's Perilous, and went along it nearly an hour before we reached a small log house, almost hidden in apple trees, and Mrs. Salyer, with the four little children and Ponto trailing before and after, came out to welcome us. Although tears of joy stood in her eyes, she did not hug or kiss or "make over" her boys,—such displays of feeling being permissible only in or over babies. Little Sammy availed himself of his privilege to the fullest extent, gurgling, laughing and shouting at sight of his brothers, while Ponto, in equal exemption from the bonds of etiquette, nearly knocked them down in his joy. The two pretty little girls of five and three, being exhorted to "shake hands with the woman, Susanna and Neely," did so most politely; and Hiram, the seven-year-old, tore his gaze from Jason (they were engaged in a mutual size-up) long enough to go through the same ceremony.
The boys made at once for the apple trees, and I was invited in. Mrs. Salyer was just finishing her day's stint of weaving, and sat in the loom and threw the swift shuttle while we conversed. Seeing her for the first time without the black sunbonnet, I realized where the boys get their extreme beauty.
I asked her, of course, about family history, and learned that her ancestors, too, came out from Old Virginia more than a century ago, and had been men of education and parts. "The later generations," she said, "haint had the ghost of a chance, shut away here without no l'arning, and so hard put to it to keep bread in their mouths that half of 'em never hears what's happening yan side the mountain. It don't look like it's right for young ones to grow up this way, without no show at all. I am determined mine shall get one."
She also talked a good deal about Mr. Salyer, who she says was "as pretty a man as the wind ever blowed on," and one of the "workingest" in this section. Evidently she feels his loss very deeply; but she faces life with prodigious courage, shouldering his burdens in addition to her own, and thinking nothing of plowing, grubbing, clearing, and like heavy work, which she does cheerfully rather than keep her boys out of school. Her faith is touching. "God has give me this fine mess of young ones," she says; "now I look to Him for strength to feed and raise them."
Several times our conversation was interrupted by shy statements from the little girls that Hiram and Jason were fighting all over the yard; but no bloodshed being as yet reported, little attention was paid.
When the time came for active preparations for supper, I was taken out by the boys to "see things." First, the nags, Mandy and the "flea-bit" Charlie, were watered in the branch, and fed; then the steers must be brought down and "nubbined." They were grazing far up in a hollow, but at a word Ponto was off, and soon brought them down, starting again on a quest of his own. Then the boys put yokes on them and drove them around the steep stable-lot for my pleasure. Keats said he and Hen had to tie their tails together while breaking them, to keep them from turning the yokes; but now they go along quietly, as well conducted steers should, and evidently with perfect understanding of the strange talk of their young masters, which was Greek to me. I could comprehend the "Gee, Buck!",—"Git along there, Brandy!"; but the oft-repeated "Oo-cum-weh, woo-oo!", and "Now-wa-chat-tum!" were indeed puzzling. Then Ole Suke, the pied cow, hearing the excitement, came up, or rather, down, of her own accord, followed by Reddy the heifer, whose little spotted calf welcomed her loudly across the rails. Nothing would do but Keats must milk Reddy then and there, to demonstrate the remarkable deficiency of the "blind teat" before-mentioned.
Just as he had proved this to everybody's satisfaction, yelps from Ponto could be heard approaching, and in another moment a large, raw-boned black sow stepped sedately out of the woods on the other side of the branch, and stood meditating. An instant later, she was surrounded by a company of half-grown shoats, which squealed and scurried before Ponto's onslaughts. But evidently Julia herself lived in a serene atmosphere, and took orders from no one. After scrutinizing all of us, and assuring herself that the boys really were Keats and Hen, she grunted deeply and came forward. Not until she got out of the tall weeds, and into the branch, was the joyful discovery made that nine little new pigs followed her closely and shamefacedly. They could not be two days old,—of course they had come purposely to celebrate the boys' visit home,—no one could doubt that! Great was the delight that followed, great the pride expressed in Julia and all her performances. And what a good bait of corn Julia and the shoats got, while the babies helped themselves to their dinner, all but the poor little runt, who was crowded entirely out of reach of his until Hen spanked two of the others and made a place for him!
Miss Loring is with two boys, one of whom is playfully readying to toss something in the air, and the other is pointing at the pig and piglets coming out of the woods.“Not until she got out of the tall weeds, and into the branch, was the joyful discovery made that nine little new pigs followed her closely and shamefacedly.”
After making the acquaintance and hearing the family history of various chickens, turkeys, guineas and geese, I was taken up the hollow to the famous pawpaw patch, scene of innumerable 'possum hunts. Here even Ponto showed lively memories of past victories, while Keats, Hen and Hiram all talked at once, describing combats, and pointing out the very trees and logs. Some details of natural history I was able to gather from the confusion, such as: possums allus sull-up when they are kotch; boar possums does a heap of fighting, and it's a sight to hear their noses crack when they are at it, and the best sport ever seed is to ketch two and sic 'em ag'in each other; sow-possums do not fight, and the young uns curl their tails round their maw's and ride on her back when she travels; and, finally, possums are a master-race for wiles, and it is the mark of a man to be able to outwit them.
But darkness was beginning to fall, and when the gourd-horn blew for supper, nobody tarried on the way down. Oh, what beans, what "'taters," what "roasting-years," what corn-bread, and above all, what a noble vinegar-pie! Nervesty's reputation was fully sustained,—dangerously so, I feared, as I watched the boys gorge.
Then, while Mrs. Salyer and Keats went out to milk after supper, Hen and Susanna and Neely and I washed up the dishes; and while we were at it, Hiram and Jason were pulled apart, Jason with a gouged eye and a bitten arm, Hiram with a bloody nose and a raked shin. Then, Mrs. Salyer and Keats returning, and everybody being very sleepy indeed, we all went to bed in "t'other house," the little girls and I in one bed, Mrs. Salyer, Sammy and Keats in a second, and Hiram, Hen and Jason in the third (Hen in the middle). We had some general conversation after retiring, and it was all very happy and sociable. And of course Ponto slept in the room, too, and when, faithful guardian, he was not running to the door to growl at imaginary intruders, he was thumping his tail on the floor, or turning round and round before the fire to settle himself to his satisfaction.
Saturday morning, Keats, Hen and even I tried to beg off from the funeral occasion; but of course it was useless; and there was a busy time getting ready to start. A little past noon, I, on Mandy, with Susanna behind me, and Mrs. Salyer on Charlie, with Sammy before and Neely behind, reached the top of Bee Tree Gap, and looked down into the valley on the far side, the boys racing ahead of us. On a hill-shoulder below, grave-houses were visible, and people and nags were moving about.
Still farther down the valley, Mrs. Salyer showed me Emmeline's lonely little home. Emmeline, she said, had died a year and three months before, during the typhoid that took off Mr. Salyer, leaving a virtuous and pious memory, seven small children, and a deeply-stricken "widow."
Before we reached the burying-ground, the services began with a long-drawn funeral song, that came up to us in snatches. Very mournful and beautiful the tune was, embodying the very spirit of loneliness, sorrow and resignation. As we drew nearer, Mrs. Salyer joined in the refrain, and I caught some of the words,
I'm a long time travelling here below,A long time travelling away from my home.A long time travelling here belowTo lay this body down!
I'm a long time travelling here below,A long time travelling away from my home.A long time travelling here belowTo lay this body down!
"A long time travelling" indeed it seems to those of us bereft as she is, and as I am. The inexpressible sweep, dignity and pathos of the song will haunt me as long as I live.
We joined the crowd among the grave-houses. In front of the newest of these, saplings had been laid across logs to make seats; and the people who could not be accommodated here sat on the ground or walked quietly about. Even the numerous babies were quiet, as if knowing that a funeral occasion demanded it.
The immediate family sat on the front sapling, facing the preachers, who occupied a plank against the grave-house. Mrs. Salyer pointed out Emmeline's bereaved "widow" to me. He sat with drooping head and utterly dejected attitude, while the row of children with him wept. Just at his side was a wholesome-faced young woman, surely too old to be Emmeline's daughter, holding on one arm a child about a year-and-a-half old, and in the other a very pink new baby.
"Who is that?" I inquired.
Mrs. Salyer whispered back, "That's his new woman, Mary,—of course he was bound to get him one right off, with all them young ones. She treats them mighty good, too. The new one's hers,—it come eight days ago, just in time for the funeral occasion."
When the first preacher started to speak, and Emmeline's virtues began to be aired, I saw with interest and surprise that Mary wept as sincerely and heartily as anybody, her tears dropping down impartially upon the nursing baby and the older one. Once, when her husband seemed quite overcome, she laid a pitying hand on his shoulder; at other times, with a corner of her apron she tenderly wiped the eyes and noses of all the children within reach. And when, later, the preacher referred solemnly and unblinkingly to the fact that Emmeline's offsprings had now fell into the hands of a step-maw, and it behooved her to remember that she must one day give account to the God of widows and orphans, she bowed her head very humbly, and seemed to be at once overwhelmed and uplifted by the thought of her responsibility. Her face was really wonderful and beautiful, and in it I saw far more hope for the happiness of Emmeline's offsprings than in that of the "widow." In both wives he appears to have received more than his deserts.
The whole scene—the lonely mountain-shoulder, the weather-beaten grave-houses, the isolated little home below, the reds and yellows of the forest fading after a night of heavy frost, the ancient spectacle of human bereavement and sorrow with nothing to relieve it save the look on Mary's face—went to my heart till the tears came.
At four o'clock, having heard five preachers and several funeral songs, we took our departure. The occasion was to last all day Sunday, too. I, however, besought Mrs. Salyer to let the boys have one day at home, and at last gained her consent; and when we were once more in bed, and conversation had languished, and Ponto was thumping the floor with his tail again, Keats raised his head from the pillow to murmur, sleepily, but rapturously "Gee-oh,—a whole 'nother day at home to-morrow!"
On our arrival at the school to-night after dark, I heard that Nucky had left Friday in spite of my commands, and had not yet returned.
About ten this morning, Nucky came silently into the cottage, got his books, and was starting to the school-house, when I called him into my room.
"Did you go home?" I asked.
"Yes."
"And did Blant send you back?"
"Yes," he said. Then suddenly he flung the books on the floor and burst into furious weeping. "He run me off," he said; "and now there haint nobody to keep lookout for him, and I know he'll be kilt! If I was strong as him, I'd show him whether he could run me off!"
(I judge that Blant had to resort to severe measures before prevailing upon him to return.)
"When did he send you back?"
"Saturday."
"Where have you been since then?"
"Laying out in the high rocks,—I felt so bad I never cared what become of me. Todd and Dalt will get Blant, I know they will!"
I tried to comfort and cheer the poor child, telling him Rich Tarrant would help Blant, but I myself feel that he has grave cause for anxiety.
Trouble certainly arrives promptly. A man stopped at the gate this noon and hallooed for Nucky. "War's broke out again on Trigger," he said; "yesterday was election day, and when Blant rid down to the precinct booth to cast his first vote, there was Todd and Dalt a-drinking and a-whooping round like wild, and making their brags he wouldn't dast to put in an appearance. Of course when he come, it was just a question of the quickest trigger; and Todd had his right elbow put out of business, and Dalt a bullet in his shoulder, before you could bat your eye. Blant he got a trifling flesh-wound in his thigh,—nothing to speak of. He said you would probably hear of the trouble, and not git it straight, and he sont me over to relate to you how it really was, and to tell you to stay right where you air, or you'll see certain trouble,—that he is plenty able to tend to all that comes, and you throwed in; that your maw's desires that you get l'arning has got to be fulfilled though the heavens fall."
Nucky was silent and white for a moment; then he called out savagely, "You tell him I hate him for treating me this way, and I don't mind if he does get kilt!", then, rushing into his room and locking his door, I heard him kick chairs violently about, and then burst into another wild fit of weeping. With his devotion to Blant turned back upon itself, and his emotions and energies denied their natural outlet, I can see that this is to be a time of great strain and suffering.
I am pleased to find that Geordie's blandishments are not invariably successful. The little Salyers brought back with them from home two pairs of stout brogans. Now that November has set in, it is necessary to get all feet covered,—a most difficult proposition, since the friendly barrels hold almost no boys' shoes. Women's shoes have had to be de-heeled and pressed into service; and these of course suffer by comparison with the fine brogans. Yesterday while we were planting onions, I heard snatches of a conversation between Geordie and Hen, in which the word "brogans" played a prominent part. What Geordie's various offers were I could not gather; but, evidently, Hen has an acute mind, and has been cutting eye-teeth in past experiences; for his final answer came out loud and emphatic,
"No, son, I don't want your cow,—your calf's lousy!"
With Nucky, moods of deep depression alternate with those of insane daring. Yesterday, looking up from the garden, I was horrified to see him balancing on the roof-tree of the big house, with the slippery, frosty roof slanting steeply down on both sides; and this afternoon on our walk, while the boys played "fox and dogs" and ran like deer over the mountains, I saw the "fox," Nucky, make for the gray rocks and crags that crown the summit of one, and then crawl to the jutting edge of the highest, and hang with his hands from it, out over space. These performances of his cause me acute suffering.
I wonder that mothers have not made a study of the effects of color upon children. My change of dress in the evenings from dark blue serge to cardinal silk causes an even more pronounced change in the home atmosphere. Red, the color of life, certainly appeals to boys; when I put on the cardinal dress, they love to stroke it with their hands, or to rub their heads against my shoulders as I read.
That beauty also means a great deal more to them than we older people think, I was made to realize when Iry began to tell to-night about the "powerful pretty looks" of his young mother, and how he loved, baby though he was, to "just lay and look at her." He told of one day in particular when he awoke from sleep in her arms before a great, roaring fire, and he and she looked and smiled into each other's eyes for a long, long time, until some strange women came in and interrupted them. It is a singular thing for him to remember—doubtless he and she had gazed into each other's eyes many times, after the manner of mothers and firstborn sons—probably the coming of the strange women fixed this particular incident in his memory.
Later in the evening, when we resumed the adventures of Odysseus, there was a chorus of indignation when the hero permits the monster Scylla to snatch six of his friends from the ship and make a meal of them. "Shut up the book!" "Don't want to hear about no such puke-stocking as him," "Ongrateful's worse'n pizen!" "Why'n't he grab his ax and chop off them six heads when he seed 'em a-coming?" "Any man can't fight for his friends better be dead!" were some of the comments. I bowed to the storm and shut the book, to hear several instances of true friendship related. One was about Blant and Rich Tarrant. During active hostilities on Trigger last winter, Blant was getting out yellow poplar timber from the top of his mountain, almost under the shadow of the "high rocks" on the summit, Richard assisting him. Happening to cast his eyes upward, Richard was just in time to see the muzzle of a gun projecting over the rocks, and to throw himself in front of Blant and receive the discharge in his own bosom. Had it been an inch farther to the right, it would have pierced his heart. As it was, he made a troublesome recovery.
"That's what I call right friendship," said Nucky; "there haint a minute in the day when him and Blant wouldn't lay down their life for each other, glad."
"Who was it shot the gun?" inquired Philip.
"Oh, Todd. We knowed it later when he went about with his left hand tied up,—Blant fired as the bullet hit Rich, at the hand that held the gun. We Marrses don't do no low-down fighting,—we allus fight in the open. And the Cheevers used to; but Todd is a snake in the grass, and don't stop at nothing."
While at the big house talking with the head-workers yesterday, they showed me some albums of photographs made in the beginnings of their work here, before the school was even thought of, and when they came up from the Blue Grass only in the summers, and lived in tents, having classes in cooking, sewing, singing, nursing and the like. I turned the pages with eagerness, hearing enthralling tales as I went, and stopped at last before a small picture of strange beauty. In a blaze of firelight, against a dusky log-cabin interior, sat a young mother with a child clasped in her arms. The serene, Madonna-like tenderness of face and attitude made the photograph memorable and surprising.
"Many persons have admired that picture," said one of the heads; "we took it years ago, over on Rakeshin Creek, late one afternoon when, weary from a long tramp, we walked in upon a young mother and her child in the firelight. We spent the night there afterward."
"On Rakeshin!" I exclaimed. "How long ago was it?"
"Eight years, I should say."
"Do you suppose—could it have been, the wife and child of Mr. Atkins?"
"That's exactly who it was," she replied,—"one of his wives, I hardly remember which."
"I know," I said; "it was Iry's mother. And that wonderful child remembers the very hour! Only Sunday he was telling of the long look he and his mother were taking at each other when some strange women came in and interrupted them."
The heads exclaimed with me in wonder and loving interest.
"Give it to me," I said, "so that I may send it off at once to be enlarged for his Christmas present."
Very heavy rains for three days, and another big "tide," with seven panels of the back fence washed away, and Perilous a boiling yellow flood down which logs and whole trees are rushing. What was my horror, on hearing loud cheers from the stable-lot this morning, to see Nucky out in the middle of the torrent, standing calmly on a swift log, which even as I glanced, shot around a curve and out of sight. Ten minutes of agony for me followed; then Nucky reappeared, wet only to the waist, and followed by every boy on the place.
"Gee, that wasn't nothing," he deprecated, in answer to my reproaches, "I've rid logs ever sence I was born. I just jumped on her when she come a-nigh shore, and off again down Perilous a piece. I haint afeared!"
"Haint afeared got his neck broke yesterday," remarked Joab, drily.
These desperate and daring moods of Nucky's are source of untold suffering to me. I know they are caused largely by his worry over Blant, and his baffled desire to be at his post on Trigger. Sometimes I think it would be best to let him go,—there can be no doubt that Blant does need him, and he is doing little in his studies, and is so bitter and gloomy that I scarcely know my once delightful boy.
This evening, while we were popping corn in the "fotch-on" poppers, Killis said he could recollect "capping" corn in a skillet under the still while he and his father made liquor.
"You made liquor?" I exclaimed.
"Can't remember when I didn't," he replied; "I holp paw from the time I could walk. I would go with him up the hollow, and gather wood for the fire, and then set and watch the singlings whilst he kep' a lookout for officers. And sometimes he would let me mix the doublings, too. And when the liquor was made, and folks would come to buy it, I would circle round up in the field where it was hid, to show 'em the place, and they would come up with their jugs and leave the money under a stump. Gee, I knowed so much about the business I could run it myself!"
"I hope and pray you never will," I said, earnestly.
"What you got again' it,—you haint no officer," he said.
"No," I said, "but I think it is wrong." And I gave my reasons, which, however, failed to carry much conviction.
"The marshal that kilt your paw," inquired Nucky, at last, "how long you aim to let him live?"
"Till I'm good and ready for him," replied Killis; "I got a dead tree up the hollow I practice on all the time,—there's a band breast-high around it black with bullet-holes. Sometimes I shoot walking, and sometimes running, and sometimes I fetch a nag up and gallop around and shoot. When I get so I never miss, I'll ride over where he lives at and tell him 'I'm Steve Blair's boy,' and shoot him down like a dog, and revenge my paw, and do my duty."